There's Insufficient Madness in Reason
by Space-facade
Summary: The story of a relationship, from start to finish, told by those looking in from the outside. Nick/Stephen - slash.


_In which we hear from gossiping undergraduates and Allison Hart._

_**CMU Student Union. January, 1999.**_

'_So, _guess who I saw in the quad earlier today?'

A stack of textbooks was set on the table with a thump.

'Who?'

'_Him_.'

'Him who?'

The owner of the textbooks rolled a pair of heavily made-up eyes.

'_Stephen Hart_.'

'The new TA from Palaeontology that Lucy was waxing lyrical about on Friday?'

'Exactly. He works with that grumpy Scottish bloke who always forgets to turn up for his lectures.'

'Professor Cutter.'

'Whatever. Seriously Pip, you've got to see this guy. Can you say Mr GQ?'

'Mr GQ. And why would I see him? I'm not a Palaeontology student. Neither are you, come to think of it.'

'Who _cares_? He's _sex on legs, _Philippa. Come on, just put down the book on…' there's a pause as a book is wrestled from reluctant hands, and examined, '…Anthropology and the History of Life, and indulge in a little light stalking with me.'

'Stalking is illegal.'

'So we'll call it…an exercise in intense focus.'

'Still sounds like stalking to me. Just go and knock on his office door if you're so desperate to talk to him.'

'Did you not hear me say the part about him working with the grumpy Scott?'

'So?'

'They share an office. Rumour has it that students go in there with excuses for late papers and _never come out_.'

'Good job you don't have a late paper then.'

'Yes, but I don't think 'please may I come in and ogle your new TA' would go down any better.'

'You never know. He might find it funny.'

'Or he might bludgeon me to death with a fossil.'

'Good. Then maybe I'd get a little peace and quiet.'

'Oh, fuck off.'

Silence falls for a moment.

Then, 'You know, Ally was talking to me about Stephen Hart the other day.'

'_Oh _yeah? Do tell.'

'When people offer you gossip your ears actually prick up. Did you know that?'

'When you fall asleep in the lounge at the flat, I like to steal your phone and send embarrassing text messages to your ex's. Did you know _that_?'

'…you don't right?'

'No. Not yet. I will if you don't tell me what Ally said.'

'She reckons he's gay.'

There's a loud outbreak of coughing and spluttering.

'_No way._ Why does she think that?'

A pair of shoulders are shrugged.

'God knows. But if anyone has an instinct for that kind of thing, it's Ally. She's got…what do you call it?'

'Gaydar. _Da-mn_, Lucy's going to be _gutted_. Not that she ever stood a chance anyway.'

'Rach!'

'Well, it's true. He's practically a male model. God, the cheekbones.'

'You are so shallow I'd break my neck if I dived into you.'

'That sounds ever so faintly queer, Pip, just to let you know. But it's not just the looks. I mean, he's getting a PhD, he's obviously not stupid. He works with Professor Cutter too, so he must have backbone. Apparently, Cutter's last TA only lasted a fortnight, and the Dean hasn't managed to find anybody else he'll okay as suitable in _months_.' There's a considerate pause. 'Hey, maybe I'm not the only one appreciating Stephen's good looks.'

A sharp nudge, and a suggestive eyebrow waggle accompany this.

'_Rachel_. He's married.'

'Stephen's _married_?'

'_No_, Cutter, you moron. To the other Professor Cutter. You know; the female one. She's an evolutionary zoologist as well. Works in the same department.'

'Oh yeah, _her_.'

'Why do you say it like that?'

'Haven't you heard the rumours?…Oh come on, Pip, _everybody's _heard the rumours.'

'Enlighten me.'

'You remember Darren Marchell?'

'Uh. No. Not really. Should I?'

'He came to that house party we had on Halloween last year. You know – tall, blond hair, he was dressed as Luke Skywalker.'

'_Oh. _The guy I caught with Tilly in your bedroom.'

There's a pause.

'I'm not sure I want to know the answer to this, but what was he doing in my bedroom with Tilly?'

'I think this is the part where I make a terrible joke about him showing her his light sabre.'

'_Oh my god_. In my _bed? _I slept on those sheets! Dammit, that's disgusting.'

'Don't worry, I changed your sheets.'

'…when? I didn't notice you doing that.'

'The next morning. You were passed out on the floor in a puddle of vomit.'

'Oh. Yeah. Good times. _Anyway_, Darren Marchell. To carry on the metaphor, _apparently, _he was showing Helen Cutter his light sabre every Wednesday afternoon for a month, in the projection room about the auditorium.'

'Wow. Classy.'

'I know right? Clearly all's not hunky-dory in the marital bed.'

'You don't _know _she's sleeping around, Rach. The rumour mill churns out some utter garbage sometimes.'

'I know. But I heard that directly from Darren's sister.'

'God, what kind of man discusses his sex life with his _sister_?'

'Not the point, Pip, not the point.'

'Sorry, I'm lost. What is the point?'

The minute hand of the clock on the wall behind ticks into place, showing the time as exactly five past two.

'Oh _shit_. The point is, I'm five minutes late for my tutorial. _Bollock-ing hell_, Professor Rosenberg's going to eat me.'

'Maybe you could appease him with an offer to tend to his light sabre?'

'He's about sixty, with warts, and what I would consider a third nostril.'

'All in the name of scientific experimentation.'

'Oh, fuck off. I'll see you at home.'

'Yup. Do try not to accidentally run into Stephen Hart won't you? You don't want another restraining order.'

'The first one was a complete mistake, and you know it.'

_**Aldershot, Allison Hart's living room. March, 1999.**_

Plunking two mugs of stand-a-spoon-up-in strength coffee on the low glass table, Allison Hart lowered herself into the armchair across from Stephen.

Her younger brother, at twenty-two, had just taken his first steps into the wonderful world of graduate studies, and from the looks of things, it suited him well.

Stephen had always been lanky and somewhat uncoordinated - with long limbs and a tall frame that he'd never quite grown into - but in the month or so since she'd last seen him, that had started to change.

He had filled out, broader chest and strong shoulders giving him the build of a man – a far cry from the skinny little twit with the vicious elbows that she'd frequently beaten up when they were kids.

His dark hair was shorter as well; gone was the slightly-too-long fringe that had needed periodically shaking out of his eyes in typical grungy student fashion.

She'd spent years waiting for it to happen, Allison reflected sadly, and now all of a sudden, baby brother had turned into a man.

It wasn't just Stephen's physical appearance that had changed though – he seemed happier in himself, more confident, more self-assured. She'd thought she'd heard traces of it when they'd spoken on the phone, but now he'd finally dragged himself away from Manchester to visit her, she could see it in person.

They chatted idly, about his dissertation, his work at the university as a TA, and his, still relatively quiet it appeared, social life. Stephen laughed more, quipped, made jokes, and it was almost as though someone had taken a syringe labelled 'Life' and given him a shot.

He looks…happy, and for Stephen Hart, that's a rare state. In fact, it's a state she hasn't seen properly since their parents died ten years ago - only glimpsed.

They finish their coffee, and he asks about her doctorate work, and her latest boyfriend.

'It's great,' she tells him, about the doctorate, 'in the bag by the end of month I reckon.'

About the latest boyfriend she's not quite so polite. There are several expletives, and Stephen wears the smug little grin he always does when he catches big sister misbehaving.

She asks him about the bloke he's working for, a Professor Cutter, she can remember him saying.

Stephen shrugs absently.

'He's walking the fine line between genius and insanity. One of the best minds in his field but he'd forget his own head if someone didn't remind him.'

'What's he like to work for?'

'In all honesty, I don't have that much to do with him. He runs the department with Helen, and mostly I work with her. I've only spoken to Cutter a couple of times, and I'm not entirely sure he even knows who I am.'

'Who's this Helen?' Allison asks, curiosity peaked. Stephen's never mentioned her before.

'She's a professor, of evolutionary zoology, like Cutter. She's my supervisor for my dissertation. It was her that got me the job. She put a good word into the Dean for me.'

As Stephen talks, his whole face lights up, and suddenly Allison is pretty sure she knows why he hasn't mentioned 'Helen' before.

'Oh?' she says neutrally, 'and why would she do that?'

Stephen looks at her sharply, seeing straight through her blank expression.

'Not for any reason you're thinking. She just wanted to help me.'

'Did she. And how old is she?'

Stephen rolls his eyes at her, and Allison can tell that the irritation behind the action is actually half-genuine. He's awfully defensive, awfully quickly.

'28. And you can stop thinking whatever it is you're thinking. She's married.'

'Married?' Allison feels a rush of relief.

'Yeah. To Cutter actually.'

The rush of relief turns to stone.

'Stephen…'

'Stop being so bloody suspicious. Why do you _always _do this? Can't you accept that someone might just be helping me because they _like _me? Not everybody has ulterior motives, Al. Helen's great. You'd like her.'

If this Helen is anything like the sort of person Allison thinks she is, then a chance to decide that for herself in person will never be forthcoming. She's been working the graduate circuit for a good seven years now, and she's seen a lot of professors having affairs with a lot of students. All the students bore the same enraptured expression Stephen was wearing, and it never ended well.

She sighs, doing her best not to appear disapproving.

Stephen glowers at her.

'I'm not sleeping with her anyway, Allison.'

Allison wonders vaguely how long it will take for that to change.

'Even if I were, it would be none of your business.'

'It's always my business if someone's hurting my little brother.'

'She wouldn't be hurting me. She wouldn't be using me either, which I know is what you're thinking. We're friends, Al. There's nothing wrong with that.'

'She's married.'

'To a bloke that doesn't give a damn where she is, or who she's with. He treats her badly.'

'She's still his wife.'

Stephen stands up abruptly, slamming his empty mug down.

'I think I should be going,' he says coldly.

Allison trails him to the front door, and watches him walk away.

Halfway down the path, he turns back to face her.

'I'm not a child anymore, Al. I'm not as naïve as you think. I know what I'm doing.'

Allison very much doubts that true, but there's nothing she can do.

She watches his headlights fade into the distance, and wonders how long it will be before the entire thing blows up in his face.


End file.
